On Rangers through the Winter Months
by MiniFruitbat
Summary: A sickness, a struggle, and still a Ranger cannot bring himself to tell his niece about the mother she so resembles. Rated T for violence and underlying themes. Would you be reading it if I had said Aragorn?
1. Questions

**On Rangers through the Winter Months**

**Notes and Disclaimer:** As all acquiesce, I do not own the concept of Lord of the Rings or the Dúnedain. I do, however, use the characters Paelin and Paedern quite often. This particular story explores the questionable relationship between a Ranger and his adopted "niece." Contains various undertones, but I will never be writing anything nasty as it would be wholly unnecessary. …And I like ambiguity far too much to make things so cut and dry. Now with actual editing!

* * *

"What was my mother like?" the girl asked suddenly. The two were seated in a depression against the rock face, Paelin fletching arrows and Paedern polishing both the sets of armor. A few twisted cedars grew between boulders, but in these last winter months, all other life had vanished. Only brown stalks and the drying husks of grasses peeked above a meager dusting of the colorless snow. The wind blew shrilly overhead, agitating the plains in front of them, but they were sheltered for the most part. She stirred a pot of glue beside their tiny fire.   
"Why should you wish to know?" her uncle answered coolly. He met her gaze, but his face remained impassive.  
Paelin frowned, seeming abashed. She had not expected her master to be so guarded in his response.  
"I barely remember her," she faltered. "And I only knew her as a mother. I was _young_," the girl wheedled. "What was she _like_?"  
"You are still young," mused Paedern, mostly to himself. He sighed and returned to his work, bending his face low to avoid her demands.  
"I am my mother's daughter," Paelin declared quietly, repeating words she had heard elsewhere.  
Her uncle set aside the chainmail abruptly.  
"No, you are not," he said decisively.  
His niece started, looking hurt.  
"Do not let any tell you such," the Ranger continued seriously. "You need not become like that." 

"Barnann…" Paelin ventured, slipping her arms around the older woman.  
"Get off me, girl," the cook heaved, swatting at her with a spoon. The girl could tell that she was pleased. She laughed.  
"What cooks?" she inquired, peering over the crone's shoulder.  
"Mutton," the woman announced good-naturedly. "Nice and stringy. Want a taste?" She held out the ladle. Gray meat floated limply among the last stores of greens. Paelin wrinkled her nose. Winter pickings were lean in the outer camps, but they would eat it anyways. "Now what are you after, pumpkin? Food? You can wait like everyone else, and you've et all the honey. I don't care to know what Paedern feeds you when you're out, but-"  
"What was Maelin like?" the girl asked, uncommonly gentle as she buried her chin in the leathery folds of the veteran's neck.  
Barnann let the ladle slide back into the pot. She led the child to her side and cupped her young hands in crooked old ones. She considered her well.  
"Do not ask those questions, little one," she said at last. "You will not like the answers."  
"I should know," Paelin muttered sulkily.  
Barnann released her hand and flapped for her to sit. The Ranger brat hunkered down beside the cook fire, staring at the white ashes that rimmed the circle. Her voice began to rise. "Paedern won't-"  
"Paehl!" the cook commanded sharply. The camp was filling as dusk began to settle. The old woman took the girl's gulp as an opportunity to stifle her tongue with a mouthful of the boiling stew.  
Little Paelin choked and rushed away.

"Whatever did you say to her?" Paedern murmured, lips barely moving as he leaned forward in confidence. His apprentice sat away from the others, barely picking at her food and keeping mostly silent.  
"We need to talk," said the cook, not answering his question. She filled his bowl without a second glance and turned to the next, shoving her son's apprentice with her hip. "Later," she added as an aside.

Paedern looked once more to his niece on the edge of camp. Her shoulders shook twice with the cough she had held all winter, but she would not meet his eye. He sat instead with the mess of Rangers who were his comrades. They greeted his presence warmly.


	2. Orders

Paedern returned eventually, wrestling with himself. Barnann's words still echoed in his head, but he had already known he would someday face his sister's child.  
Paelin pretended slumber against the shelter of the cliff face, further from their fire than was customary. She had banked it as required, yet was evidently avoiding him. He closed his eyes while she muffled a cough, then pulled off his cloak and spread it over hers.  
She plucked it aside, careless that she was ruining her act. "Take it," she said dully.  
"It is cold," her master responded placidly. "Come closer to the fire."  
"I'm fine," she replied, and grew still.  
Her uncle argued no further. He sat beside the campfire and waited until certain she was asleep. Then he covered her gently before settling uncomfortably, wrapped in his own fraying blanket. 

A bout of Paelin's coughing woke him in the morning. He found her coaxing life from the fire's embers, her thin cloak bundled about her shoulders. He frowned and rolled on his side to watch. She turned her pale eyes on him and twitched an apologetic smile, feigning normality as she was wont.  
She had returned his cloak.  
Paedern roused himself and crouched beside her.  
"We must do something for that cough," he said, starting to add the kindling.  
"I am not ill," his apprentice answered. "And I am not the only one." A good quarter of the camp had the same, though none had held the sickness quite so long. The Ranger broke a larger stick and bridged it towards the rising flames. He rarely bothered to argue, and it was true that the herbs for such treatments were in bare supply. She would listen to him when necessary.  
Paedern sat back, fingers laced beneath him. "There are to be no more _questions_ about lineage," he said at length. His niece had the sense not to respond to him. "That is an order, Paelin."  
The girl stood abruptly and began to roll her bedthings.

"Paehl," came the invitation. Paelin looked up to see old Barnann standing over her, holding out a hunk of bread. The woman moved silently even with her arthritic joints, and the loaf seemed crusted with honey. "Here," she proffered.  
Paelin shook her head. "I'm not hungry," she said.  
"Suit yourself," the crone sniffed, taking a seat beside her and crunching into the rare treat. Paelin bent back over her work, careful not to disturb the satchel of feathers weighted at her feet. Her hands were cold, but as long as they had feeling, they could fletch. She had gloves in her pack, but stubbornly refused to retrieve them from the place where Paedern sat.  
Barnann followed her sidelong glances shrewdly. She swallowed cumbrously, and gave the ground a contemplative tap with the sword she kept strapped uselessly to her side.  
"Captain Telmer also knew your mother," she mulled, now searching through her pockets for leaf. "He has some other stories."  
Paelin said nothing, but her posture softened as she continued to slot and fasten the straightline feathers.

"Paelin!"   
Her master's voice bellowed through the campsite. All heads turned, surprised by Paedern's tone. The man was not one known for his temper. That trait had been given to his sister.  
Paelin rose coldly to her feet, stepping between the groups closest to their site's main fire. She kept her chin level and went obediently to her uncle. Fresh from patrol, he waited on the ridge a few feet away.

"You disobeyed me," he said softly, his voice a warning in itself.  
"Yes."  
The girl had no illusions about that.  
He fumed silently for a moment, the flares of his nostrils ridiculously pronounced. Paelin blinked once in astucious defiance.  
Paedern struck her across the face.  
His niece's eyes widened as her head went down, but she did not cry out. He caught her across the other cheek a moment later.  
Still shocked, she drew herself up the same, breathing heavily. Her nose felt oddly hot against the air, and she knew it was bleeding like her gums. She did not touch the bone above her temple, though she expected that to be wet as well.  
Her lip was set.  
Paedern was still angry.  
He seethed a moment longer, then forced himself back to the dangerous calm.  
"Go and sit down," he ordered.  
The others went back to eating.


	3. Resolve

**Notes:** A week has passed, you may notice. I don't think I like Paedern much, even when he's being protective. What a pity he's my second-favourite character to write for, ill intentions and all! And yes, Paelin does seem to be napping very early in the evening. I caught that as a continuity error the first time through, then figured that all the Rangers would probably have strange sleeping schedules anyways. _And_ she's sick, so all the better. Lungrot would be the equivalent to pneumonia. That would make it quite dangerous, but _pneumonia_'s just too modern (or should I say Greek?) for this setting.

* * *

Paedern held her head in his lap.   
"You still have a fever," he murmured, smoothing the hair from her forehead. Paelin rubbed helplessly at her eyes, trying to erase the ache she felt behind them. "Do you remember what you dreamt?"  
She shook her head, the motion sending her vision into a further spin.  
"Just running." 

"Is she sleeping?" Barnann asked, crouching by her old comrade. "I think so," said Paedern wearily, reclining against the boulders. His right leg was numb.   
"You still need to tell her," his former Captain advised. "Telmer just told some stupid stories about the two of you and some oliphaunt. I checked."  
The Ranger sighed.  
"I know," he said at length. "I talked with him."  
"You were setting her up for this," the older woman accused. "You've gone and made her sick."  
"She was ill beforehand. You know that."  
"You broke her nose."  
Paedern looked down, gently stroking the bridge of his niece's nose. After a week, the blossomed bruises were starting to fade.  
"You think so?" he inquired fondly, as if he had not noticed.  
"I had Sasin set it to rights," Barnann snapped, looking scornfully at her own gnarled hands. "The girl does not cry at much. Be glad of that. You cannot go hitting members of your own with gauntlets."  
"Is this a lecture or new orders?" Paedern asked, returning her icy glare.  
Barnann held that a moment longer.  
"You are to take the midnight watch," she said, delivering the message coldly. "_Alone_. And by week's end you should return to the city."  
"Which part is the order?" he asked, eyes narrowing.  
"The watch," she clipped shortly. "The rest is just your obligation."  
"_How_ I train my apprentice is of _my_ concern alone! Paelin knows to work through sickness. She was fine on patrol."  
"_Paelin_ needs a warm bed and the proper herbs, none of which can be offered here. You have more responsibilities to that girl than you like to admit, Paedern son of Dernwald. It is high time you made good on them."  
"She is not so ill," the Ranger said defensively, resting a protective hand on his student's shoulder.  
"She'll have lungrot ere a month, you mark my words," wagered Barnann, leering at him.  
"_Lungrot_?" hissed Paedern, his voice laced with mockery. "You act as though she were some withered crone ready to-"  
"You forget yourself, son of Dernwald," the cook intoned ominously. Paedern backed down, looking faintly apologetic in the failing light. The blue evening was setting in once more. He turned his eyes downwards.  
"My apologies," he said flatly. "I forget my place."  
"You act more like your sister with each day that drags onwards," she continued, equally cruel. She rose to stand.  
"Have Telmer wake me for the midnight watch." Paedern turned his head and made ready to sleep in the uncomfortable cranny.  
Barnann left.  
Once she was gone, he awkwardly gathered up his niece and half-carried her to the fire, limping all the while and willing the blood to return to his leg. He settled her there and noted worriedly how little she stirred until he lay asleep beside her.

"You did not wake me," reproached Paelin quietly, standing behind her master.   
"I left you sleeping," Paedern said, puffing contemplatively on his pipe. "You seem more like yourself."  
"You do not smoke often," she observed, sitting beside him with her cloak pulled tight.  
"I did try," he said after a moment. "Briefly." Paelin could think of several things meant by that, but she only nodded, pushing dirt into the watch fire with the toe of her boot.  
"Mm."  
The cloud of smoke mixed with the fog in front of her mouth, and she coughed violently, gasping for breath when finished. Paedern looked alarmed.  
"Anyone could hear that," he admonished. "Sound may not travel far in this place, but even that would echo."  
"Sorry," she whispered hoarsely, drawing in the cloak from where it had slipped off tired shoulders. She peered about anxiously, squinting across the darkened plains. The moon was almost full, and it gave a decent light. "Outside the camp, there are none for miles," she assuaged, still trying to slow her breaths.  
"More than twenty leagues," he agreed, concern again darkening his brow. "And they would see the fire first. But you should know. Take off your cloak if you are still with fever," he added.  
"Chills are worse than fever," she resisted stoically, though drooping in her place.  
Paedern smiled inwardly, but he vowed to keep to his resolve.  
"We leave for the city in the morning," he said, not meeting her eyes directly.  
"Where for?" she asked softly.  
"Rest, and leave," he assured. "It is all for the best. The camp could use supplies." He lowered his voice. "You need the medicine, Paehl. Soon you will be coughing blood." She lowered her head. "You already have," he guessed, then looked closer. "I can see it on your sleeve. You need to _tell_ me these things, Paelin. I-"  
"I'm sorry," she said again, this time sadly. "I do not mean to keep you back."  
"I am doing this for you," he soothed, resting his head on hers. "Do not try to stop me now. We shall take a horse in the morning. The rest are needed here."


End file.
